Best Of :: Sports & Recreation
Wait a minute, you say. Lewis Carroll may have had chess on his mind when he wrote Through the Looking Glass, but the game isn't a sport, so why does a chess team rank a story in a Best of Dallas sports section? You're right. Chess technically isn't a sport. But bass fishing is. And golf. And televised poker.
Listen, if outsmarting a fish or some guy in plaid pants counts as sport, why shouldn't concentrating intensely over a chess board for four or more hours at a stretch against some of the best collegiate players in the world count too? Still not convinced? Then consider this, the University of Texas at Dallas' Chess Team took first and second place in the last Pan American Intercollegiate Championship and first place in the National Collegiate Championship.
National collegiate champions—there are some words you're not likely to hear applied to a local college football team anytime soon, so let's go with our strengths and call chess a sport. This is Dallas. We love winners.
UTD chess coach Rade Milovanovic has certainly coached his share of them in a program that has brought in a string of championships while boosting the international reputation of a school and...wait a minute again, you say. A chess team has a coach?
Sure does. A good one too, a former lawyer in the former Yugoslavia and international grand master chess player whose family moved to Dallas in 1998 as refugees from civil war.
"Sometimes life is very strange," says Milovanovic, whose chief memory of Dallas before moving here was as a boy in 1963 in Yugoslavia hearing news in school that John F. Kennedy had been killed. "After that I wouldn't imagine I would live in Dallas. Sort of like chess, life is unpredictable."
Milovanovic says his family's chief request when they were resettled from Bosnia in 1998, apart from medical care for an ill daughter, was "someplace not too cold." (Again, Dallas, go with your strengths.) Figuring that in his 40s he was too old to retrain for a law career here, he took menial jobs before meeting up with Tim Redmond, founder of UTD's chess program, whose team needed a coach.
Managing unpredictability is part of a chess coach's job—scouting the opposition to match his players to opponents with complementary strategies, picking a lineup, arranging travel and practices and videotaping opposing teams' defensive signals. (We made that last one up. A little NFL humor there.)
Another large part of Milovanovic's job is ensuring that his team members, who receive a mix of academic and chess scholarships, maintain a minimum 3.25 GPA. That's even more ambitious than it sounds, since UTD was created in part to help provide local brainpower for Texas Instruments, so it's already drawing from the high end of students scholastically, says chess program director James Stallings.
"We have the reputation now" to attract top players, Stallings says, making the chess team UTD's equivalent of the Longhorns for UT-Austin, though probably with a lot less emotional baggage than the stereotypical student athlete.
On a recent sunny Friday afternoon in a huge, brightly lit conference room on campus, team members were chatting above the click of timers and pieces landing on checkered boards, and everyone looked so...ordinary. Searching for Bobby Fischer? (So was the U.S. government.) There may be the odd sort hidden among the tables at UTD, but by all appearances, they're perfectly average-looking Texas college students who just happen to be way above average.
There are no freaks, geeks or emotionally fragile eccentrics muttering to themselves and stalking off to sulk in a corner. No temperamental asocial geniuses of movie and television scripts. There is, however, a couple with their young daughter, Stallings points out. During Friday team practice sessions, community members and families will occasionally drop by to seek a game. Where else, he asks, can Dallas chess heads find so many masters of chess in one spot?
Well, they might have to travel to Eastern Europe. The game's big there, which makes overseas a fertile recruiting ground for Stallings, which in turn helps him with one of his chief jobs, promoting UTD as a place for smart people. While a few team members are Texans or from parts north, others hail fromSerbia, Russia, India, Costa Rica and as far away as Mongolia.
Salvijus Berlys, an 18-year-old freshman from Lithuania, is among them. His family came to the States for the opportunities offered here to student athletes like him and his younger sister. "My sister plays tennis. I play chess," he says, though her playing can be a little more inconsistent, because "emotion gets in her head."
Lithuania has "maybe five" grand masters in total, he says. At UTD, that would barely fill the number of slots for players in one match. Still, the chess world is a relatively small community. Berlys says he knew some of his fellow players from his high school chess team in New York before he got here, so the culture shock coming to North Texas is small—most of the time, anyway. For instance, he was surprised not long ago, coming back from a match in South Texas, to be asked for his visa at the airport. Who needs a passport to travel to Brownsville? he wonders. Illegal immigrants from Mexico usually don't book a flight.
Luckily, the team won't be running the risk of border hassles with its big match come November, when they face their coach's alma mater, the University of Belgrade. The 16 versus 16 tourney will be over the Internet, and Stallings is making plans for a video link.
"To build a field a really good team, you have to have something to attract [players]," says Stallings, who is a marketer at heart.
And that might explain why the team is considering bringing cheerleaders to the big match against Belgrade. Why not? If the Cowboys could have cheerleaders all these years, why shouldn't a team of winners? — Patrick Williams
Granted, Jupiter Lanes could automatically win this category for not being located in Lewisville, Allen, Hurst, Euless, Richardson, Garland, Mesquite or Addison. We are urban bowlers, after all, and we like to roll on urban lanes amongst our urban brethren. Luckily for us, the 20 lanes at Jupiter just got a million-dollar facelift, so we can watch Frankie Goes to Hollywood videos on projection screens and dance in the black light just like the suburbanites, only without the drive and in a much hipper fashion, naturally. But don't fret, bowling purists, the Disneyland bowling is limited to weekend evenings, so you still have five nights to enjoy 10 or 20 frames and two or three White Russians without having the chorus of "Relax" stuck in your head.
He's not only the best coach in our area, he's the best in the state. At any level. In any sport. Why else would Dodge be handed the keys to Denton? Already a suburban legend, he's a no-nonsense coach who's perfected a silly offense. At Southlake Carroll High School, Dodge's spread system scored 40 points a game, went 79-1 (the only loss coming by one point, 16-15, to Katy in the 2003 title game), won four championships in five years and cattle-prodded Texas high-school coaches to send their cherished dive plays and option pitches the way of Barbaro, Tony Soprano and the Arcadia Theater. Brain-washed by Bill Parcells' mind games and monotone game plans, we've almost ignored Dodge. North Texas hasn't. The Eagles realize that the same high school producing five consecutive State Offensive Players of the Year isn't coincidence. It's coaching.
While hands—recall all those Terrell Owens drops and Tony Romo's bobbled snap—eventually killed the Cowboys, it was a foot that kept them alive all season. Punters don't get shit. No groupies. No max contracts. No endorsements. Unless, that is, they have a season like McBriar. An Aussie by way of Hawaii, he became the first Cowboys punter to earn a trip to the Pro Bowl since Ron Widby in 1971. Watching McBriar's quirky backspin ball is the coolest thing this side of seeing that one-armed stripper over at The Clubhouse. His 48.2-yard average led the NFL, was the league's highest in 43 years and smashed Dallas' franchise record. Two things stand out about McBriar's season: His 75-yard punt against Houston that rolled out of bounds at the 2-yard line and the even more amazing feat of generating consistent praise from Bill Parcells.
Hailing from Ghana via Virginia, Dominic Oduro debuted with FC Dallas in 2006. Now, we could give you stats and play background and all that stuff, but the most important thing about this fine forward is that he has a helluva lot of heart. He trains long and hard, lives in team housing, eats at the field and has been separated from his family thanks to the meager pay that comes with being a truly dedicated and underappreciated soccer player. The Birdman is the ultimate team player, as anyone who's ever watched the Hoops can attest. He doesn't hog the ball, he's eagle-eyed and lightning fast. He's also responsible for one of the most exciting goals we've seen live all year. The Galaxy can have Beckham; we have our superstar with soul in Oduro.
Having nurtured All-Around World Gymnastics Champs Carly Patterson and Nastia Liukin, Plano's World Olympic Gymnastics Academy is probably, technically, a more productive gym. But, dude, Lifetime Fitness at Legacy and Preston has palm trees! And a giant outdoor swimming pool, complete with slides and fountains and a poolside café with waitress service. Seriously, this place is more five-star resort than two-a-day workout. Amenities, abs. Amenities, abs. Hmm. Choices, choices. There's a spa, locker rooms adorned with big-screen TVs, a computer center and even a rock-climbing wall. And if you want to go retro, there's also a weight room. Best of all, after your rigorous day of pampering it's just a short drive up to Martini Park and The Shops at Legacy, where you can undo all the work you just did.
Accepting the award on behalf of Mr. Galloway is his long-time co-author, Jose Cuervo. For years Galloway has cultivated a loyal following of Fort Worth Star-Telegram readers by being at once caustic, folksy, ballsy and good ol' boys-y. Best thing about Randy is his love for horses and lack of sacred cows. Ditto this year, when he intermittently ripped Cowboys coach Bill Parcells, Mavs owner Mark Cuban and—after predicting an 81-81 season in April—called in June for the Rangers to "... blow it all up. If the philosophy is to start over, then start totally over, and begin at the top with [general manager Jon] Daniels." Galloway isn't always right, nor is he the best writer. But, in an indictment of the metroplex's pathetically weak mainstream voices, he speaks loudly and carries a powerful pen mostly because he expresses strong, easily identifiable opinions.
On a station that delivers as much shtick as sports, Norm sticks out like Renoir amongst the kids coloring outside the lines on their Chuck E. Cheese menus. He's overdramatic, underappreciated and, ultimately, as endearing as enduring. When he's not busy being Gordon Keith's punching bag, the 60-something without an iPhone, MySpace page or a care in the world about being cool asks the old-school, tough questions of local poobahs such as Avery Johnson, Jerry Jones and Ron Washington. He spews unparalleled passion, whether toward his NFL draft board, weekly Picks of the Pole, some lame name game or his annual Normathon, an 18-hour event raising $250,000 for the Austin Street Centre for the homeless. He's quirky and nauseating and entertaining and informational, all stuffed into a peppy Polish caricature of himself. In other words, he's Norm.
Only one guy is good enough, cool enough, smug enough and—did we say good enough?—to interrupt his own nightly radio show with his own nightly TV show. He doesn't have Mike Doocy's hair or Newy Scruggs' hipness or Babe Laufenberg's history, but Hansen still has the metroplex mesmerized by being both plugged in and unplugged. On KESN-103.3 FM ESPN, Hansen is brash enough to keep us listening. And on Channel 8, he's smart enough to hire Erin Hawksworth and keep us watching. Though old enough to remember when the Hard Rock opened and when Deep Ellum was cool, he's still got it. We wonder, though, with Bill Parcells no longer around, if Hansen will continue his harsh criticism, bullish opinions and brutal honesty on all things Cowboys. Of course, we also wonder if his flirty verbal jousts with weatherman Pete Delkus secretly drove Troy Dungan into early retirement.
It's almost impossible to remember what the NBA's MVP did right for six months because of all he did wrong for six games. Sorta like Zac Crain and Kinky Friedman had some good ideas for a while, right? In the humiliating playoff loss to the Golden State Warriors, Dirk was soft, passive and even had his attitude questioned by coach Avery Johnson in a series in which he produced only three magical minutes. When he accepted the MVP trophy as the first Euro, first Maverick and first winner not to get his team out of the first round in 25 years, it was bittersweet if not altogether hollow. The award, thankfully, is for the regular season. And from November to April, Dirk averaged 24 points, nine rebounds and was undoubtedly the best player on the league's best team.
For those of you who only visit White Rock Lake on a lazy Sunday afternoon, this may come as a bit of a surprise, but the most crowded the park ever gets is at six in the morning every day, except during our four-week winter. That's when the Dallas' marathon training groups flock to the park to beat the summer heat or just work out before work. Serious-looking cyclists, often in ravenous packs of 30 to 40 riders, also hit the lake, making the 9.3-mile loop their own personal Tour de France. On weekends, you'll even encounter traffic jams at the park's entrances before the sun has started to rise and a road race or two along the lake shortly thereafter. It's a strangely fascinating sight to see that many people working out furiously so early in the morning, but then again, where else are they going to go? Maybe if we had a park along the Trinity, say without a toll road?
How the hell can a guy who fired Tom Landry and signed Terrell Owens ever make it up to Cowboys fans? Simple. Super Bowl XLV. While Mark Cuban was lobbing lawsuits with Don Nelson, and Tom Hicks was spending more of his money on English soccer and less on his local losers, Jones dug $350 million out of his own pocket to build a $1 billion stadium and attract the 2011 Super Bowl to Arlington. At times during his reign more conniving than Elizabeth Albanese, Jones these days—along with sidekick closer Roger Staubach—seems capable of bringing peace to the Middle East. He meddles. He finagles. But most of all, he cares. More than football, the new stadium is the world's most profound act of vanity. Until, that is, the day he names himself head coach. Tick...tick...tick...